“Wow the cat’s name is Amy? And he looks like Matt Smith? What a coincidence…”

“Ask. Him. Now. Lucy. Please.”

“Sir, why do you look like Matt—“

“What no! Lucy ask him about the invisible string.”

“Oh yeah, ok.”

Lucy took a deep illusional breath then started.

”So, I’m newly dead and I suddenly have intense mood swings — if that’s the correct word for it. I don’t know.” She swept her curls behind her ear and continued, “There was this time I was quite literally sucked into a void…with vine-like things. It was like..stifling, but that can’t happen! ‘Cause I’m like dead…right? So it was like suffocating with no clear end, if that makes sense. So, why is this happening? Don’t the dead, at least now, get to be carefree?”

The man glanced quickly at a living crying child before answering.

He shifted in his bench, then said, “Well, I haven't been dead for long, so I only know so much, but what you described didn't happen to me when I died. I think every individual's experience is different; maybe it depended on your mental state right before you died?” He gazed at the stars for a moment, in the way one would look at a yellowed picture of a long lost friend, then asked: “Oh, and what's your name, dear?”

Lucy, dissatisfied, lowered her head.

“Lucy— ow…sorry, my head hurt.”

“Wow, you had a head before? You sure are good at keeping secrets, Lucy.” Amy stretched her legs and lay on the grass.

Lucy decided it was better to ignore that, and turned back to George.

George snapped out of his staring into the distance and quickly said, “Beautiful name, Lucy.”

“What’s the matter, sir?” Lucy asked.

“Nothing, just that little kid over there, the one who’s crying, she looks like you: same hair.” He responded amused.

Lucy stared at the tree, but that was the problem, it was just the tree. She noticed a dove sitting on one of its branches, though it instantly locked eyes with her then flew away, leaving behind a sense of bittersweetness for Lucy. Doves, they meant something, something…sad, or nostalgic? But they meant something, or someone.

“Lucy?”

She remembered she was supposed to be talking with the poor guy, one cannot escape wandering off conversations, even in death.

“Uh, sorry, I wandered off.” She mumbled. “Where is that kid? I only found a dove, no crying child.”

George was about to answer but Amy was faster.

“What if…” She said dramatically.

“What— you were asleep!”

Amy rolled her eyes.

“What if…” She said again, this time heading towards Lucy and walking around her in circles.

“Wha—”

“Come on girl, get on with it — no need for the theatrics.”

George held back a laugh.

Amy finally stood still next to Lucy, then whispered, “What if…you knew that crying child?”

Lucy looked at her bluntly. “So, you’re saying that this kid is— was me, from my past?” She said dryly.

Amy glanced at the tree, then headed to her spot as she told her “Ooh, somebody's getting sharper by the second. I'm honestly impressed.”

“N— no…They're hurting them. The lions should be free…”

Somebody tapped her on the shoulder, it was the brunette girl, the one with the Miraculous Ladybug bag.

“Here.” Estelle said quietly, handing her a watermelon-flavoured toffee, Lucy's favorite.

“Shhh…she’s getting flashbacks.”

“How do you know?”

“I'm a cat, I know things.”

“She's right, actually.”

“Why, hello! Thought you didn't like us.”

“Oh, no, I'm sorry, I'm just quiet. Greatly sorry if you initially thought I disliked you.”

“Angel! You can talk with them?”

Lucy stretched her arms out of habit, looked around, and slowly remembered her flashback. Is this straight out of a fantasy film?

“I can.” They replied genuinely.

George looked at the dazed Lucy, slightly concerned. “Are you alright?”

Lucy sat down on the bench next to him, thinking about what she's just seen — or remembered, or felt. That was the word.

Amy looked at her, waiting for something, “Ahem.”

Actually, they were all looking at her, even Angel somehow, she could feel it.

Lucy adjusted her fuzzy ponytail and swept her blonde bangs, then started, “Yeah, guys I'm alright, but just a little question, is being dead normally this dramatic?” She said, frustrated, her curls falling over her face again.

“I wish I could help, but I am also a newly dead, and I have a feeling what's happening to you could be linked to your loved ones. I, on the other hand, wasn't exactly the best of people when I was alive, so I doubt anyone misses me. Only my later years I'm proud of, but I unfortunately learned how to be a good human being a little too late.”

Lucy, though curious, decided best not to ask the first question that sprung to mind.

“People aren't characters, Lucy, his tragic backstory is none of our business,” she told herself.